Stunning
by Cyclades
Summary: Cross-dressing always solves the case, in the end. Can be pre-slash or not. Potentially crack-y.


A/N: I envisioned Holmes and Watson to be in their late twenties, about a year after meeting, at the time of this story. This is because in the movie timeline they never could've passed for women. Or could they have? I challenge you, Guy Ritchie.

The plot is a little weak, so just squint your eyes and enjoy the crack. That's what I did.

///

"Holmes?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Stop that. Who are these people?"

"Specifically? The relatives of the Lord Radford, whom I suspect to be guilty of extensive thievery. Generally? London's finest, if one can base one's self-worth upon money and moral stagnation."

"From the looks of it, one manages just fine."

"Indeed. You are sitting on my frock."

"Oh. Sorry." Watson shifted as much as their perch in the large willow would allow. "Remind me again of the purpose of dressing this way?"

"You mean in gowns? It's quite simple: Lord Radford fears the intervention of the police in his illegal dealings involving the usurpation of his brother's estate. Such dealings will surely take place this evening. Therefore, there are bouncers positioned at all possible entrances to intercept all guests who are neither listed nor-"

"Fetching potential bed-warmers?"

"Quite. Lord Radford is quite the connoisseur of fast women."

"And just who is going to play the role of fast woman?"

"Why, myself of course, old boy. You know I would never ask you to do anything that might compromise your dignity." Holmes took a moment to adjust his skirts and tighten his bonnet in preparation for the climb down, as he'd just spotted the business dealer melting into the crowds ahead. "Keep your fan close to your face my fellow, and we're off."

They both struggled down, impeded by lace and bustles, before merging inconspicuously into the night.

///

It had been two hours, and Holmes had yet to seduce Lord Radford.

The plan was supposed to be that, in a state of supreme, typical drunkenness, the lord would be distracted by Holmes long enough for Watson to investigate the deal that would take place out in the yard, in the gazebo in the north garden. So far, the only successful part of the plan was that Radford was now roaring-drunk.

Watson was a bit tipsy himself at this point, lacking for anything to do other than sip wine and flap his fan in an attempt to detract away from his potentially recognizable face.

_How does Holmes even convince me to do these kinds of things? I was normal before him and his unnaturalness, before I lost all ability to say no to the most ridiculous and absurd of suggestions. I'm mentally disturbed, I must be. My mother would be ashamed, bless her soul. My father would be ashamed, bless his soul. My brother… has probably done something like this before. My grandparents-_

"Why, hello there." Watson jumped, startled by Lord Radford's sudden presence at his side. He murmured something unintelligible, and hopefully convincingly high-pitched, in response. The lord just chuckled, a large chest on an equally enormous body quivering.

"Might I interest you in a turn about the floor?" He didn't look capable of a turn of his own volition, much less recognizing it for what it was. However, Holmes was suddenly at Watson's side, whispering into his ear and giving the impression of the sharing of coy, girlish sentiments. What Watson heard, however, was, "Go with him. Be natural. I will give you the signal."

Signal? What signal? But before he could ask, he was whisked away by a boorish gorilla in a suit.

///

"Now just relax, girly, don't kick up such a fuss." Lord Radford was truly three sheets to the wind at this juncture, and Watson had to bat away his attempts to fondle non-existent areas with more pointed ferocity. However, keeping up such actions was proving very difficult whilst holding a fan, wearing very large skirts, and being very obviously herded by the Lord's massive girth into ominously secluded areas of the house.

Great Scott, but the man had octopus-hands.

"Erm, where are we going?" Watson winced when the words came out as a croak rather than the desired falsetto. Lord Radford didn't seem to notice; to him, at least, a woman's least appealing aspect was her conversation. The voracious beast of a man chuckled disturbingly.

"Oh, as if you didn't know," he teased verbally, whilst physically teasing ornaments from Watson's hair. Dodging, the doctor hoped he gave the image of a lady protecting her precious possessions, rather than that of a man trying to keep his wig in place. If only he didn't dodge like the pro-league rugby player he'd once been, for he had maneuvered clear across the bed-chamber and blissfully out of reach.

Radford blinked. "You're a stout one. I like that." And the man groggily stumbled over, not so much tackling Watson as falling on him and pinning him down with his great mass. The former let out a very masculine-sounding "Oi!" as he was flattened onto the low couch he'd been led to.

Bugger. "Um, excuse me, but this is as far as I am willing to go."

"Very funny, girl."

"No, really, this about does it for me. Once the chase is over, I am all put out."

"You are saucy. I like that."

_You like them breathing, that's what you like. Maybe even that's too specific, and Holmes will pin you for necrophilism. If Holmes ever gives the bloody signal. _

"Thank you, but truly, what you are doing could be considered molestation of my person. I have rights, you know." Radford was no longer listening, however, fumbling in an alarming, drunken way at the clasps of Watson's dress, which he obviously knew better than Watson himself did. It became a game of the lord unclasping, untying, and unbuttoning, with the doctor re-clasping, retying, and re-buttoning. It was a game Radford was becoming increasingly tired of, and he began to use his superior weight as leverage in an attempt to claim Watson's lips.

"Urgh…" Watson grunted, grimacing and turning his face away. He was more annoyed than anything, as he knew Radford would be incapable of truly committing an indignity against him. While nothing on the score of Holmes, he knew of at least twelve different ways to incapacitate the drunken offender if it came to that. No, he was more worried about his identity being discovered, resulting in a definite thorn in his reputation.

Unfortunately, he lacked the stealth to stymie both an unwanted kiss and a hand clawing at his chest. He avoided the first, but he held his breath in horror as his very blatantly _male_ chest was slowly caressed.

"Stephen," Radford moaned, unaffected, and Watson breathed a sigh of relief. _He still hasn't noticed, maybe I-_

Stephen? Bloody Hell?

He had his face seized in two meaty hands and was about to meet his fate when there was a resounding crack, and Radford slumped off of him and to the stone floor with a monstrous thud. In front of him stood a normally-clad Holmes, wielding a bo staff and looking slightly… put out?

"Well done, dearest."

Watson jumped up, incensed. "Where, in the name of the virgin bloody Queen, have you been?"

"Do not swear, Watson. It is very unladylike."

"I'll swear as much as I bloody, damn-well please! Where was your signal? I thought you were supposed to be sabotaging a rendezvous!"

"Ah, you see… there was no rendezvous. And as to your first question, I have been here, in the shadows, the entire time."

The doctor narrowed his eyes dangerously, speaking slowly. "For your sake, Holmes, that better not be true." Holmes actually fidgeted slightly under his gaze.

"Well, as the case truly goes, there was evidence to suggest Lord Radford had been laundering money to pay off an accusation concerning his indiscretions with a kitchen boy. However, said kitchen boy has several alibis, and I thought that if I lured the lord in under a state of supreme intoxication that he might, erm… give indication to his sexual preferences. It seemed a creative way of resolving an age-old investigative loophole, granted Lestrade never became privy to the details. It is fascinating how the most womanizing of men can be the most capable of deviancy."

"And you did not find me worthy of such information beforehand?"

"Not if Lord Radford preferred blonds, as I was not sure how far you were willing to go."

Holmes felt that the punch to the nose he then received was entirely undeserved.

///

Later that evening at 221B, Holmes held a cloth filled with ice to his slightly bruised face and watched the stonily silent doctor across from him. "Watson?"

"Enh?" Watson was still feeling rather sorely used.

"Eloquent. May I just reiterate how stunning you looked this evening?"

This succeeded in bringing a small smile to the other man's face, and Holmes knew he'd been completely forgiven.

"Please. As if you are the best I can do."

///

End. Though, the bromance lives forever on.

If you are reading this, Ally-Bally, I dedicate this story to you, for we never did find that blue dress. ;D


End file.
